


Bourbon and Lorca

by ChipsintheChapel



Series: Pupcake Patchwork [3]
Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Canon Era, F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipsintheChapel/pseuds/ChipsintheChapel
Summary: Patsy returns to Nonnatus for the evening and happens upon some unexpected camaraderie in her room.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Series: Pupcake Patchwork [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693711
Comments: 25
Kudos: 78





	Bourbon and Lorca

**Author's Note:**

> The third addition to the Pupcake Patchwork!

‘Her touch purifies you, begins to sterilize the germ of him that lives inside your brain.’

‘Oh, that’s quite good. Write that bit down.’ 

Patsy paused at the door, thoroughly not expecting the combination of voices sounding from the room. She found herself knocking despite the fact that the room was very much hers as well as Delia’s, an arrangement that had seemed serendipitous when it presented itself, though she’d since learned was very much coordinated. 

‘Come in!’ 

She entered at the sound of Delia’s voice, feeling a bit of the tension of her day ease out of her just hearing it. She’d missed it so much when she was in Hong Kong. 

Delia was sat cross-legged at the foot of her bed, a pad of paper in her lap and a book out in front of her. It was a common position for her to be in, and so the first sign that something unusual was afoot was that Phyllis was sitting on Patsy’s bed, leaning against the headboard with her stockinged feet crossed out in front of her. It was more casual than Patsy has ever seen the older nurse, and it made her immediately suspicious. 

‘Oh, Pats! You’re back early!’ Delia sounded transparently delighted and ever so slightly…mischievous? She was also bouncing slightly on the bed, as if she was about to spill over with excess energy. 

‘Yes, everything went quickly and smoothly with Mrs Stockard. What are you two up to?’ 

‘Phyllis and I are having our monthly poetry and sherry night. Well, normally we have sherry, but tonight we’re celebrating your return with bourbon and Lorca.’ 

Patsy’s mind struggled to process all of the baffling new information in Delia’s statement. One question stood out above the rest, however, ‘What’s Lorca?’ 

‘He was a Spanish surrealist poet. I found him through my classes. I’m not normally one for Spanish poetry, but his words have always been more moving to me than most.’ Phyllis’ voice slurred ever so slightly as she spoke, and Patsy narrowed her eyes at the pair. 

‘You’re celebrating my return with surrealist Spanish poetry?’ 

‘And bourbon!’ Delia hopped excitedly off the bed, swaying ever so slightly as she made her way over to their dressing table, ‘Would you like a glass?’ 

‘I wouldn’t mind a refill,’ Phyllis held out her glass and Delia ambled over to shakily refill it, giggling slightly as a tiny bit sloshed over the edge. 

Patsy’s eyebrows shot up. They were drunk! Delia had gotten Phyllis _drunk!_ And they were drunkenly reading poetry! She quickly moved to close the door that she had left ajar, feeling an odd compulsion to protect Phyllis’ reputation. 

She looked back to see Delia brandishing the bottle expectantly. Patsy gave her head a small shake and smiled, ‘I’m alright for tonight, though I appreciate the offer. I didn’t have a large supper and I have to be up early for rounds tomorrow.’ 

‘Oh should I…?’ Phyllis gestured questioningly towards the door. 

‘Not at all. I’m not going to be going to sleep for a while yet. Please do carry on. Are you reading to each other?’ Patsy made her way over to her closet, toeing off her nursing shoes with some relief. 

Delia settled herself back on the bed with her newly refilled glass, pulling the paper back into her lap, ‘Well, we were. But now we’re writing it instead.’

Patsy couldn’t hide her surprise, ‘You’re _writing_ poetry?’

‘Delia became upset with Lorca’s focus on the male experience, and so after reading his poem _Adam_ , she decided we should write one called _Eve_.’ 

‘You two are writing surrealist poetry about the biblical Eve?’ It was a sentence that sounded so absurd that Patsy couldn’t fully believe she was saying it. 

‘It needed to be done, Pats. Lorca’s poem was so _obviously_ about how Adam doesn’t want to have to be with Eve. I thought a woman’s perspective was in order,’ Delia sounded that particular strain of petulantly stubborn she got when she was a bit drunk, and Patsy tensed, prepared to embark upon her usual strategy of placation. 

‘I still think that interpretation is a bit of a stretch,’ apparently Phyllis had no such compunction, and Patsy shot her a worried look as she gathered up her pyjamas. 

Somewhat surprisingly, Delia simply smirked and waved her hands with exaggerated self-importance, ‘I’m telling you, Phyllis, _I_ have an advantage here at reading between the lines.’ 

‘Why is that?’ Patsy was genuinely curious. Delia wasn’t one for unsubstantiated boasting, but she didn’t have any particular expertise in poetry, as far as Patsy knew. 

‘Well, because Lorca…’ Delia paused, looking up and putting her pen on her pursed lips for a moment, as if struggling to find the right words, ‘…preferred the company of other men.’ 

Patsy felt an icy panic shoot through her veins. Was Delia really saying? In front of Phyllis? She knew that Phyllis was generally aware of the nature of their relationship, but still. To be so flippant about their inclinations seemed unnecessarily risky. Patsy felt her panic begin to morph into anger as she thought to herself that Delia should know better than to let her guard down so casually. 

It was a complete shock, then, when Phyllis let out a bellicose bellow of laughter, ‘You have me there,’ she turned to Patsy, ‘Anyway, in response Delia has _encouraged_ us to take it upon ourselves to write a suitably feminist version. We were just beginning the second stanza,’ Phyllis pivoted back to Delia, ‘And while I like your line, I think that rather than brain, perhaps it should be _lives inside your bones_. Because she comes from Adam’s rib.’ 

Patsy stood in shock as they began to collaboratively bicker over wording. Was it possible that Phyllis was simply alright with…everything? The very thought seemed almost too dangerously hopeful to consider. 

‘I want it to be brain because we’re trying to separate Eve from her connection to Adam. She gets to be her own person here.’ 

‘I understand that, but in the poem she still has to be identifiable as Eve. And who is the _her_ of the touch? There’s no other woman in the biblical story.’ 

Delia furrowed her brow as she looked at the paper, ‘Hmm…maybe God? Or the snake? Or wisdom itself?’ 

‘You mean you don’t _know_?’ Patsy was thoroughly confused. She didn’t know much about poetry, but it seemed as if at least the writer should know what they meant. 

‘It’s surrealist poetry, Pats,’ Delia gestured dramatically again, ‘You just let it _flow_ ,’ she took a big gulp of her bourbon. 

Patsy raised an amused eyebrow, ‘It appears _something_ has certainly been flowing…how much have you had to drink?’ 

‘She’s correct, though,’ Phyllis cut off any response Delia may have had, ‘You need to be relaxed to write poetry. To be open to all of the creative possibilities.’ 

‘You two sound like Sister Monica Joan, with your _flows_ and your _creative possibilities_.’

‘Oh!’ Delia looked up excitedly, ‘Monica Joan would be _fabulous_ at this. Perhaps we can get her opinion tomorrow. She’d certainly have thoughts on who could be touching Eve.’ 

Phyllis looked thoughtful for a moment, ‘I had assumed the _her_ was more Sapphic in nature,’ her voice sounded genuine, without even the slightest hint of judgement. 

Patsy’s jaw dropped as Delia snorted into her glass, devolving into a fit of giggles. Suddenly, she looked up with a gasp, ‘Oh! We could make Eve and wisdom _lovers_.’

That was simply a step too far for Patsy. ‘Alright,’ her tone was firm as she reached out and plucked the glass from Delia’s hand, ‘Perhaps it’s time to switch to water.’ 

‘Is this not quite where you expected your evening to go, Nurse Mount?’ Phyllis seemed amused. 

‘Well, I certainly didn’t think today was going to end with watching you two drunkenly write Sapphic surrealist poetry. I feel a bit like I’m _in_ one of the poems, to be honest.’ 

Phyllis sat up straighter, looking slightly chagrined, ‘I’ll have you know that I am _not_ drunk. Just well-lubricated enough for writing poetry.’ 

Delia giggled slightly as she raised her hand, ‘I’m a little drunk.’

‘And that’s why I’m going to go change and get you a glass of water,’ Patsy made her way to the door, ‘Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.’ 

‘Don’t worry, Nurse Mount! I’ll keep her under control!’ 

Patsy shook her head as she left the room to the sound of them giggling. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as soon as the door had shut. Her heart was racing wildly in her chest. She couldn’t believe Delia would be so…open! She looked down at the glass in her hand, desperately hoping that Delia knew what she was doing. 

She made her way to the bathroom, changing into her pyjamas as she pondered the scene she’d just witnessed. 

So much seemed to have changed since she’d left, but this was just…well, it was unbelievable. Her greatest fear had always been being discovered. It had never even dawned on her that the results of such a discovery would be anything other than catastrophic. 

But Phyllis knew. Had known for quite some time, apparently. Patsy trusted Delia to know the older nurse’s limits, but old fears died hard, and she’d needed to leave before her concern had thoroughly ruined what seemed like a pleasant, cathartic evening. Hopefully having some time to calm her bubbling anxieties would prevent her from foisting her worries upon Delia. 

Deciding she needed a bit more time than changing clothes had allowed, Patsy made her way downstairs to prepare a cup of warm milk for Delia. The Welshwoman was forever touting milk as a hangover prevention, and Patsy was fairly certain she’d need it. 

As she heated the milk, she looked around the kitchen that she had missed so much during her time in Hong Kong. She thought about Delia being here, in this space that had been Patsy’s home first. About how she must have been reminded every day of Patsy’s absence even by the very space she was in. Patsy was so very glad that Delia had had an ally like Phyllis, even if their current level of openness was a bit disquieting. That Delia had had someone to help her through the long months of Patsy’s absence. When Patsy had left her here, alone.

No, she couldn’t begrudge Delia her openness. They’d spoken enough about their time apart for Patsy to know that it had been desperately hard for Delia. It was something Patsy could fully empathize with. Delia had done what she’d needed to do to survive. Patsy could certainly understand that. 

She sighed as she poured the milk into a mug. She wondered if she could ever have that kind of open relationship with someone here? One where she could actually laugh about their love. Take joy in it in the presence of others. Old apprehensions nestled painfully in her gut and she shook her head. For now, she’d just work on being comfortable with Delia’s candidness. 

Having stalled as long as she possibly could, she made her way back up to their room, knocking lightly before sneaking in with the water in one hand and milk in the other, her uniform tucked under her arm. 

Delia stood up when Patsy entered, stretching languorously, ‘We’ve finished the poem!’ She looked down at the mug, ‘Oh, have you made yourself some tea?’ 

Patsy held out the mug to her, ‘I’ve made you some warm milk. To help you with your hangover in the morning.’

Delia shook her head, looking at Patsy as if what she’d just said was the most ridiculous thing in the world, ‘That only works with sheep’s milk, Pats. Everyone knows that.’ 

‘There’s a difference between milks?’ 

‘That’s alright, lass, I’ll take it. A spot of warm milk before bed never goes amiss.’ Phyllis smiled at her warmly as she grasped the mug and took a small sip, ‘A perfect temperature. I best be off to sleep now. Delia, thank you for another lovely evening. Good night, Patsy.’ 

Delia grabbed her toiletries from her bureau, ‘I’ll come with you and get ready for bed.’ 

Patsy bid Phyllis goodnight as she watched them both slightly shakily make their way out of the room.

Delia turned just before closing the door and pointed to where she had left her writing sitting on the bed, ‘Read the poem and see what you think. We’re rather proud of it.’ 

Patsy settled into Delia’s bed, sitting up against the headboard, before picking up the pad of paper with a sigh. Reading over the words, she furrowed her brow as she tried in vain to wrest meaning from them. She shook her head, unable to decipher it in the slightest. She’d never really been one for poetry, much preferring the sciences. And anyway, her brain was thoroughly preoccupied with trying to calm her anxieties. Phyllis was clearly alright with them as a couple; why couldn’t she quiet her mind? 

She was distracted from her contemplations by the sound of Delia returning for the night. 

She shot Patsy a smile as she entered, ‘What did you think of the poem?’ 

Patsy watched as Delia made her way across the room, uncertain how exactly to respond, ‘The words are very lovely, but you know I’ve never really been one for poetry. I’m afraid I can’t really make heads or tails of it.’ 

Delia didn’t look up from where she was placing her toiletries back on her bureau, ‘It’s about how Eve doesn’t want to have to be tied to a man, how she wants to be able to be her own person. To make her _own_ choices.’ 

Patsy felt her worries boil over in her chest. She took a deep breath, able to have enough control to ensure her tone had no hint of accusation, ‘Deels, are you sure it’s safe to be so… _open_ …with Phyllis?’

Delia paused for the briefest moment before putting away the last of her things and making her way to the bed. She sat on the edge and took Patsy’s hand. Her tone was serious and she seemed, in the moment, completely sober, ‘You know I’d never do anything to put us at risk, Pats. Even when I’ve had a bit too much bourbon.’ 

Patsy nodded and looked down at their joined hands, ‘So Phyllis really is alright with talking about…well…everything?’ 

Delia chuckled slightly as she moved to get into the bed and nestle into Patsy, ‘Well…not _everything_ , certainly. But on month seven we read fragments of Sappho, so I think we’ve successfully passed the barrier of discussing my inclinations using the veil of poetry.’ 

Patsy raised a sceptical eyebrow, ‘Sappho? Really?’ 

Delia nodded as she dragged Patsy down so they were lying next to each other. Delia nuzzled Patsy’s neck as she wrapped the redhead in a warm embrace, ‘Mmhm. Her suggestion.’ 

Patsy could only chuckle at that. She still couldn’t quite believe how accepting Phyllis had been. 

They lay for a moment as Patsy simply basked in having Delia so close. Of all of the things Patsy had missed, holding Delia tight to her was at the very top of the list. The brunette released a contented sigh and Patsy smelled the bourbon on her breath. 

‘Have you drunk your water?’ 

Delia released a small moan, sounding petulant, ‘Pats, I cannot drink my water, for I am overcome with longing for a woman.’ 

Patsy laughed, ‘Sappho, I presume?’ 

Delia gave a small nod, but made no motion to get up. 

Patsy sat up, ignoring Delia’s groan, ‘Come on, you have to drink at least one glass. You’ll thank me in the morning.’ 

Delia gave an irritated grunt as she hoisted herself up. 

‘Here you go my drunken little Sappho.’ 

Delia grumbled sleepily as she took the glass, finishing it before dragging Patsy back down and snuggling into her, ‘And you’re my muse.’ 

Patsy chuckled as they both settled back in so they were comfortably nestled together, Delia with her head on Patsy’s chest. 

Patsy tried to simply enjoy the moment, but old guilts were tenacious. 

‘I’m glad she was here for you. While I was gone.’

Delia was quiet for a moment, before replying softly, ‘It was wonderful to have an ally, but it wasn’t the same,’ her grip on Patsy tightened, ‘I’m glad _you’re_ here with me now.’

She pulled Delia impossibly closer, ‘I’m so happy to be here with you. You’re stuck with me for good now.’ 

‘Even when I drink too much bourbon and scare you away to anxiously heat panic milk in the kitchen?’ 

Patsy smiled into the dark. Delia knew her so well and still loved her, and Patsy had no idea how she’d ever gotten so lucky. She gave Delia a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

‘Always.’

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little canon-era one-shot. I'm as surprised as anyone to have written something canon-era, but this story immediately popped into my head, and I've found it's best to run with it when such things happen. No worries, though. I've been in AU-land at the same time, and there's an update to Luckiest Girl on the way shortly. :) 
> 
> The next author to be adding a square to our metaphorical quilt will be Wheely_Jessi! 
> 
> If you're a writer in the pupcake fandom...whether established or budding...and have been on the fence about joining the project for whatever reason...you should throw your hat in the ring by e-mailing echo7fic [at] gmail.com. It's low commitment, one-shots are a great way to cure writing blues, and more voices make more interesting quilts.
> 
> Stay safe out there!


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